Not a wizard
by SnowWhiteOwl
Summary: It's September 1 and Harry waits to be sorted. The hat, however, stays silent. Rated for implied character dead


_My very first fic, I hope you'll like it and I appreciate reviews!_

_I don't own Harry Potter  
_

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**A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all. What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said that there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?**

**(„Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" - Chapter 7, The Sorting Had)**

Finally, Professor McGonagall called „Potter, Harry!"

He trembled.

„_It's all right, Hagrid TOLD you you were a wizard. Everybody else has been sorted, there is no reason why you shouldn't be. You have defeated the most powerful Dark Wizard when you were just a baby. You WILL get sorted!"_

Harry tried to convince himself, mentally, while he went forward, sat down on the stool and tried not to panic when the world went dark.

He didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't that deafening silence.

Harry tried not to shake to much while he waited that something would happen. It hadn't taken so long for anyone, had it?

„_Freak"_

he jerked upright. Was this the hat?

Silence.

„_Dirty little Freak, doesn't belong to Hogwarts"_

No. It hadn't been the had, but his own thoughts which seemed to be strangely loud compared to the complete silence.

Was this normal? He had already sat there for about 5 minutes! What was this hat doing?

While he tried to think about nothing (especially not about what might happen if the hat wouldn't choose a house somewhat soon), he became aware that the Great Hall didn't seem to be quite as silent as it had at the beginning of his sorting.

If you could call it sorting at all, since there was no sign that ANYTHING was going on with this hat.

Suddenly, after what seemed to be an eternity, the hat was pulled from his head. Harry blinked and tried to will the tears away that threatened to escape due to the sudden bright light.

After a few seconds of confusion (both for him and all the other pupils) Professor McGonagall motioned him to stand aside. Since he didn't know what else to do, he did as he was bid and stood in the corner next to the table where apparently all the teachers were sitting while the Sorting continued.

No one else had to sit on the stool for more than a minute.

He noticed that many glances were cast his way, not only from the students but from some teachers as well. He gulped when he noticed the piercing gaze of a pale, hook-nosed, dark-haired teacher.

The look he gave him wasn't exactly unfriendly, but made Harry feel like he was some kind of insect under a microscope.

After Professor McGonagall had called „Zabini, Blaise", who was sorted into Slytherin almost immediately, the old man in the middle of the teacher's table, probably the headmaster (Dumbledore, wasn't it?) since he hadn't an ordinary chair but something similar to a throne, rose to his feet, and after a cheerful greeting and some words that didn't make any sense (at least for Harry) the plates that had been sitting empty on all the tables were suddenly filled with the most amazing smelling food Harry had ever smelled.

He briefly wondered whether he would get something to eat anytime soon when he became aware of three people approaching him, one of them was Professor McGonagall who looked rather angry. The other two were the headmaster himself and the pale, black-haired man whose eyes still held these strange mix of curiosity and calculation.

„Mr Potter, please follow us!" Said Professor McGonagall.

She led the small party out of the Great Hall into a small, dimly lit room that was cold, compared to the Great Hall. She shut the door behind them and no sound from the happily talking people could be heard anymore.

„Well, Harry, that was quite a surprise. It hadn't happened for almost 50 years that a student hadn't been sorted. I never considered..." He broke off.

„Mr Potter, care to explain what it was that you noticed when the Sorting Hat was placed on you head?" Asked the pale teacher who was beginning to unnerve Harry.

„All went very silent, and, äh, kind of dark. I mean, darker than it would have been when a normal hat would be placed on your head."

„And then?"

„Then?"

„Yes Mr. Potter, what happened after it „went dark", as you called it?"

„Ohm, nothing, Sir. All was dark and silent for quite some time. After 10 minutes or so, I started to feel some restlessness in the hall. Ähm, it was then that the head was pulled from my head."

„10 minutes, Mr Potter? You have been sitting on this stool with the hat on your head for almost half an hour!"

„Oh. I didn't noticed it took so long."

The adults shot glances at each other and seemed to hold some kind of silent consultation. The lack of any explanation started to take its toll on the boy. What was going to happen? Why didn't anybody talked to him? Why couldn't he just try on the hat again? Perhaps it had been tired or just didn't know where to sort him. Surely, if he tried one more time, he could at least become a Hufflepuff?

„Well, Harry," this was the headmaster. „It seems that there are some... complications. I believe Hagrid told you how your parents were killed?"

„Yes, Professor"

„And how you got your... ohm, scar?"

„Yes Professor"

„Well, this is truly unexpected. We had arranged something else, otherwise. I'm really sorry, but it never occurred to me.. but apparently, that … incident that left you with that scar was somewhat more... damaging than I had anticipated... Well, I don't think there is something we can do about it. We just have to see if there is another way. Maybe we have...misinterpreted it somehow. Maybe it was indeed Mr Longbottom... „ He muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

„Excuse me, Sir, but what is going to happen now? Can I try on that hat again?" Harry was close to tears. He didn't want to sound so desperate, but he couldn't do anything about his voice being more than unsteady.

„Oh? Well it is apparent that there had been a mistake. I'm afraid Harry you have to go back to your relatives and find another school, since you don't come up to our expectations. There is little we can teach you when you haven't enough magic."

„Going back...? But, can't I just try the hat again? I'm sure I'll be sorted this time! I'll try really hard, I promise!"

„No, Harry, that isn't possible I'm afraid." He shook his head, smiling. "The hat would have connected himself to your magic if you had enough to be considered a wizard. However, from what you told us, this hasn't happened. Therefore, it is quite clear that you don't have the gift of magic."

„But Sir, Hagrid told me, I've made things happen all the time, I've turned my teachers hair blue, I've made my hair grow really fast, I've..."

„Yes, yes, Harry, I believe you, but while this can be considered accidentally magic, it proves little more than that you aren't a complete squib - a muggle who was born into a wizarding family. I'm sure I'm right when I assume that you were really angry and frightened when this things happened?"

„Yes, but..."

„Well, you surely have some magic, but not enough to attend Hogwarts. You see, even squibs can sometimes use magic in life-threatening situations. Even some muggles can do it! And, of course, squibs can see and enter magical areas like Diagon Alley or Hogwarts. This is the reason you hadn't had any problems so far. It's very rare that someone isn't a squib but can't be considered a wizard either. Like I have said, I'm sure this kind of thing hasn't happened for many decades. I'm sorry my boy, but there is nothing I can do about it. You won't be able to learn magic, therefore it will be in your best interest to return to your relatives to start at a muggle school."

„But Headmaster, Sir, I can't go back, please, I just can't! Why can't I just stay here, maybe helping Hagrid to earn my keep! I promise I'll work really hard, I'll do anything you won't, but please, don't send me back!"

Now he was crying. This had to be a nightmare.

„Harry, my boy, please be reasonable, you are a young boy who has every chances of being successful in a muggle school and to learn a decent job afterwards, maybe even going to university! You shouldn't be too disappointed that you can't learn magic, there are so many things that you can still do! It wouldn't be right if you stayed here, you are a bright child, Harry, and I'm sure your relatives will find you another very nice school."

„But..."

„No „buts", Harry, there really is no other way. I'm very sorry to have to disappoint you so much, I can understand that it must be hard to leave after all the things you have already seen, but it is for your own good. Now, please excuse me, I have to go back to the feast. Professor McGonagall will show you a room where you can sleep, and, of course, the elves will bring you some food! Tomorrow at 10 am the train will leave for London. I'll make sure to let your relatives know to expect you back tomorrow evening. It was nice to meet you, Harry, I wish there was something I could do for you, but I'm sure you'll manage just fine. You are a bright boy, Harry, you'll make your way!"

And with that, Albus Dumbledore left the room.

The other two Professors seemed to be equally stunned as Harry was, they recovered quickly, however. The dark haired teacher (Harry still didn't know his name) turned to Harry, and with something that was a mix between pity and a small, somewhat encouraging smile he nodded and left the room as well.

„Mr Potter... please, follow me."

* * *

A few weeks later, Albus Dumbledore was leafing through a muggle newspaper (unlike many other wizards, he didn't consider the muggleworld too trivial to care) and thinking about the progress he had made with the Longbottom-boy. While during the first few weeks of school he hadn't shown much talent, he wasn't hopeless, either. Dumbledore was sure to be able to make a proper saviour out of him, if only given enough time.

A short article caught his interest, it was about a boy, Harry P. (his full name wasn't mentioned to protect his family), only eleven years old, who had killed himself a few days ago.

„Such a young boy. It's a pity" He sighted and put the newspaper aside.

He had a school to run.


End file.
